There is too much beauty upon this earth For lonely men to bear, Too many eyes, too enchanted skies, Too many things too fair; And the man who would live the life of a man...
When the waves rise high and higher as they toss about together, And the March-winds, loosed and angry, cut your chilly heart in two, Here are eighteen gallant gentlemen who come to face the weather...
All the wide world is but the thought of you: Who made you out of wonder and of dew? Was it some god with tears in his deep eyes, Who loved a woman white and over-wise,...
Is it the Spring? Or are the birds all wrong That play on flute and viol, A thousand strong, In minstrel galleries Of the long deep wood, Epiphanies Of bloom and bud. ...
I was reading a letter of yours to-day, The date - O a thousand years ago! The postmark is there - the month was May: How, in God's name, did I let you go? What wonderful things for a girl to say!...
Singers all along the street, Singing every kind of song - One man's song is honey-sweet, One man's song is hammer-strong; Yet, however sweet the singing, However strong the hammer-swinging, -...
Had I the gold that some so vainly spend, For my lost loves a temple would I raise, A shrine for each dear name: there should ascend Incense for ever, and hymns of golden praise;...
O sad-eyed man who yonder sits, Face in a book from morn till night, Who, though the world should go to bits, Pores on right through the waning light; O is it sorrow or delight...
O ships upon the sea, O shapes of air, O lands whose names are made of spice and tar, Old painted empires that are ever fair, From Cochin-China down to Zanzibar! O Beauty simple, soul-less, and bizarre!...
Friends whom to-night once more I greet, Most glad am I with you to be, And, as I look around, I meet Many a face right good to see; But one I miss - ah! where is he? - Of merry eye and sparkling jest,...
There blooms a flower in Trebizond Stored with such honey for the bee, (So saith the antique book I conned) Of such alluring fragrancy, Not sweeter smells the Eden-tree;...
The peril of fair faces all his days No man shall 'scape: be it for joy or woe, Each is the thrall of some predestined face Divinely doomed to work his overthrow,...
Bees make their honey out of coloured flowers, Through the June day, with all its beam and scent, Heather of breezy hills, and idle bowers, Brushing soft doors of every blossoming tent,...
A battered swordsman, slashed and scarred, I scarce had thought to fight again, But love of the old game dies hard, So to't, my lady, if you're fain! I'm scarce the mettle to refrain,...
In vain with whip and knotted cord The hirelings of hypocrisy Would make us comely for the Lord: Think ye God works through such as ye - Paid Puritan, plump Pharisee,...